Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. "Red apples and snow!" he repeated. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time.
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